The Princess of Barsoom
by JoJo4
Summary: With Zodanga closing in around her beloved city, Princess Dejah Thoris seeks a way...any way at all...to save herself and her people.  Missing moments from the film.
1. The Princess Flees Helium

Author's Notes: I absolutely loved _John Carter,_ in an all-consuming, borderline obsessive way that I haven't loved a film since I saw _Star Wars_ when I was a young girl. No, it wasn't perfect. But it was great fun, and it makes me terribly sad that the reviewers panned it so badly.

I'm convinced that if the film had come out in the 80s or 90s, it would have been a mega hit. But it is no longer the 80s or 90s, and I am no longer young. At any rate, if you liked the film and you're on Facebook, then you should join the group **"Take Me Back to Barsoom! I want John Carter to have a sequel!"**

Disclaimer: Disney owns the rights to the film, the characters, situations, names, and places used herein. I am not making any profit from this story.

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><p><strong>On Helium<strong>

Dejah Thoris threw open the tall black doors to her laboratory chamber and stepped within to survey the massive nest of papers, diagrams, and replica models that for the past 200 years had been the sole focus of her life. The force of her entry caused a momentary draft that blew some of the papers sitting on the high table to the door's right onto the floor. They floated gently on the air, the thin paper quivering until it came to rest before her, just brushing her sandaled feet.

It was a diagram of eighth-ray light refraction. The red lines parted at a precise point in the middle of the page and diverted into eight segments darting at all angles across the yellowed paper. She had only set it down last week, after using it to explain something to one of the Academy's eager young novices. Dejah bent low and picked it up with a shaking hand. She felt threatening tears form around her eyes, a dispiriting tightness around her throat. _Don't cry, _she ordered herself._ Crying is weakness, and you cannot give in to weakness. _A hot and defiant tear escaped her eyes, dropping onto the thin diagram and causing the ink with which she had drawn those careful lines to bleed across the page's thin fiber.

Dejah recalled with bitterness the dark and long hours she had spent in this most beloved of rooms, and of the sleepless nights when she had refused food and drink lest it disturb her and her colleagues' planning sessions. The machine she had abandoned in her father's throne room had represented the last push of a decade's work. In her excitement over the possible discovery, she had not eaten a proper meal for three weeks.

_What was it all for? _

Dejah Thoris had met Sab Than before, many years ago when he had been just a boy and his visionary father had summoned all the greater and lesser Jeddaks to conclude a truce on the battered hull of Zodanga. He had been present at the signing, but Dejah had 100 years on him, was already in the first flush of womanhood, whereas he was barely out of the nursery. As a scowling, angry little boy standing by his father on the dais, Sab Than had generated no more notice from her than if he had been an insect buzzing at her ear. Subsequent events, however, had called upon her to examine the memory with greater scrutiny. For his father had been assassinated by his generals not two months after the truce was concluded. And they said that when Sab Than found out, he had cut the liver from the corpse and eaten it. There were also less flattering reports that said it had been something else . . .

Yet that man was to be her husband. _That man_ was to lead her into the wedding bed.

With a trembling, shaking fist Dejah crumpled the diagram she still held and pressed it tightly to her chest against her beating heart. She shut her eyes against her tears. _It was all for Helium_, she told herself. _All for Helium, all for Helium . . . and everything I now do is still for Helium. _

Dejah Thoris opened her eyes. She knew what she must do.

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><p>"I heard you had your entire library burnt just before I arrived."<p>

Dejah was in the Royal Atrium with Sab Than, "getting to know him better," and thus far it was going very badly on both sides. He had been as unimpressed with her as he had with the herb beds so carefully cultivated by her father's gardeners. The last bastion of the ancient plants of Barsoom, and he did not even care to look or ask after their upkeep. Dejah hated him. His breath smelled like rotting meat, and his little mouth was haughty and cruel. Like so many men, he stared at her hungrily, possessively, but without any interest in the words leaving her mouth.

"Really, Princess, what do I care for your books and diagrams? I have all the power I need already at hand."

"It was not all light rays and airships, my lord," said Dejah, with a detached coolness that belied her indignation. "There were also discourses on horticuIture. If you weren't so narrow-minded, you might have found them useful."

"Ah, you mean I might have had to abandon 500 of my people in the desert to make room for your ridiculous grass specimens." He callously plucked a budding flower from a nearby stock and rolled it between his fingers until it popped. Then he threw the wasted remains onto the cold stone floor.

Dejah chose to ignore his rudeness. "These plants represent what kept all of Barsoom alive for vast millennia, and their disappearance is the reason it dies now."

He waved at the air, as if smacking away the words as they came towards him. "What's past should stay past. Helium expends too much time and money on these futile ideas," he spat. "If you think to introduce them when you come to Zodanga, think again Princess."

"And if I did?" Ever resourceful, Dejah tried a new tactic. With a coy smile, she stepped in front of him, slowly reaching over to inspect the damaged plant and exposing the enticing curve of her backside to his view. Before she had quite managed it, Sab Than seized her forearm roughly in his hands and twisted until her flesh burned.

When she neither cried out nor winced in pain, Sab Than wrenched her closer, so his face was directly before hers, their eyes staring into each other's. Dejah's mouth twitched in anger. Her blue eyes flashed with naked hatred for him. The violence of her anger seemed to impress him, as nothing else she had said or tried had yet done.

"You hate me," he stated, with the barest hint of a smile. For the first time since Sab Than had arrived she sensed a small measure of respect from him. "You have every reason to hate me, Princess. And despite what you think, I am not fool enough to try to convince you otherwise. But know this, Dejah Thoris. Your place is in my bed, and that is all. There is no room in Zondanga for weakness, not from your water fat flesh or your profligate plant gardens." He twisted her arm harder and was rewarded with a wince.

Sab Than laughed at her. "All Heliumites are as weak as the trickle of the river that winds through your dismal, pathetic little gorge."

Dejah spat in his face, and with a grunt of outrage he released her and reached for the edge of his cloak to wipe the spittle from his cheek.

"Helium kept Zodanga at bay for 5,000 years," Dejah said, pulling herself up to her full height. "And so long as I live, I swear by Mother Issus, you'll never sleep easily in your bed again."

Grinning, he grabbed her hard between her thighs, his fingers squeezing and pressing her through her skirts until it hurt. "Believe me, Princess, I can't wait."

She struck him hard against the side of his face and stormed out of the Atrium into the safety of the narrow cloister beyond. He did not pursue her, but his laughter rang in her ears and the memory of his insult burned in her mind and on her heart. Outside the atrium, she found her ladies were waiting there for her, with cheeks flushed with embarrassment for what they had just witnessed. Breathing hard, Dejah faced them. She surveyed each of them, the words on her lips but strangled within her throat by her sense of duty.

Finally, Kyrgia stepped forward and placed a consoling hand upon her shoulder. "My lady, he is very handsome."

The thought had never once occurred to Dejah. The Princess refused to return Kyrgia's gesture. She broke away and walked briskly down the hall. Her ladies followed closely behind, their flowing robes whipping at the marble beneath their graceful feet.

_To think my father would give me away to such a man . . . My father would rather see me dead, if he knew. _For a brief moment, Dejah allowed herself to contemplate the unthinkable and found she could not go so far as to take her own life. No, but she would not marry Sab Than.

At last Dejah found the courage . . .

_Is it courage?_ she questioned. _Is this not running away?_

She saw the future veering out before her, two paths, one swathed in the black of the desperate unknown and the other a vivid crimson, stretching out towards her and enveloping her beneath the choking red dust of Barsoom. The vision loosened Dejah's voice.

"Fetch me Kantos Kan," she ordered Iluria, one of the younger and more fleet-footed girls. Her voice shook, whether from rage, fear, or despair, she did not know. "I require a ship tonight."


	2. Sab Than Pursues the Princess

_John Carter_ film fans unite! Go see the movie again if you can, especially on Wednesday and Thursday when the box office draws are lowest. And join the Facebook group "Take Me Back To Barsoom! I want John Carter to have a sequel!" if you haven't already. I joined when there were 2,000 members. Now we're about 70 shy of 6,000, and it's barely a week later. We can do this!

And, of course, thanks for reading.

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><p><strong>Sab Than Pursues the Princess<strong>

Nightfall came and Zodanga crawled to a respectful distance several miles north of Helium. The massive metal shell screeched to a halt in the sands, its thousand legs groaning from the strain. A lone airship docked in the royal hangar, and Sab Than and his generals briskly spilled forth.

Returning weary, hungry, and thirsty to his royal apartments, Sab Than seated himself upon the cushioned stool and motioned for his footman to unfasten his boots. He tried not to show surprise when the youthful features melded into Matai Shang's sterile face. With a shrug, Sab Than bent low and began to untie his own shoes. "And just when I thought you'd abandoned me," he said.

Matai Shang did not dignify that with a response. Instead he turned away from Sab Than, looking out the wide window toward the setting sun of Barsoom on the near horizon. He seemed bored, as if he had been charged with a tedious job that he felt was beneath him. Sab Than found his presence oppressive, and all the more so because it had been absent for a full day. Not for the first time did the Prince of Zodanga wonder how long Matai Shang would grace him with his company. He hoped it would not be much longer.

"Don't you get hot wearing those robes?" said Sab, pulling carelessly at his laces. "Or does all the heat come off your head?"

Matai Shang seemed amused. "In the ancient days there were penalties for blasphemy."

"In the ancient days Zodangans didn't worship Issus."

The Thern appeared unphased by the comment. "Speaking of Issus, you've been outmaneuvered."

Sab pulled off a boot and set it on the floor. He looked up, his hands tense. This was not turning out to be the relaxing evening he had planned. And he found that damnable, enigmatic smile still on Matai Shang's thin lips. "Meaning?"

"The Princess Dejah Thoris is not on a pilgrimage to the Heliumite mountain temple. She's fled the city with her father's second fastest corsair ship and headed south to the Thark lands."

"To what end? She'll starve to death if the Tharks don't pull her limb from limb. And I'll massacre the city when she's dead."

"That is not what Issus commands," said Matai Shang. "You must pursue her, capture her, and bring her back to complete the ceremony. Without the wedding, you have no claim in Helium."

"She's probably gone to say goodbye to some damned plant nursery or water clock experiment. You know these Heliumites," Sab muttered. But he reached for his discarded boot and reluctantly began to put it back on.

"She doesn't know what her mission is, but she means not to return."

With a heavy sigh, Sab Than pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, as if to rub the exhaustion from them. He recalled all too well what had happened the last time a Heliumite had gotten the best of a Zodangan prince. His father, Than Kosis, had met a gruesome end.

Sab Than had never wanted this marriage. His preferred methods were war and conquest. It had been Matai Shang who had engineered him into this position. Now he wanted him to chase after Dejah Thoris like some foolish lovesick calot. If the woman didn't want to marry him, what concern was it of his, so long as he had Helium in his grasp?

"I gave her sanctuary. How am I supposed to explain to Helium why I'm suddenly chasing her through the sky?"

"You were inflamed with passion?"

"Hardly."

"You'll figure it out," said Matai Shang. He sat down in the chair smirking, and Sab glowered at him. This Thern thought he knew everything.

Leaning backward in his seat by the window, Matai Shang casually appraised the metal pane. Tracing his fingers casually over it and rubbing them together to check the dust, he replied to Sab Than as if the Prince had spoken his thoughts aloud. "Ah, but I _do_ know everything, Sab Than."

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><p>Standing on the forecastle deck of the airship <em>Kalaar<em>, Dejah Thoris didn't know where she was headed or what she would do when she arrived. The southern air of Barsoom smelled like freedom, and she was happy to feel the wind against her skin. Yet her exuberance at her escape was tainted with unmitigated guilt.

Kantos Kan had not questioned her motives in taking the corsair ship from the hangar. Her father perhaps had known better, but he certainly would never have suspected that his dutiful daughter could have ever done something so selfish . . . Or perhaps he had not wanted to cause a scene in front of the Prince of Zodanga.

What could she accomplish here except to anger Sab Than? She had escaped to buy herself time to implement her theories on ninth ray energy, but in her haste she had left behind more than half of her tools. Her research was ash. She would almost have to begin everything again, and that would take months. And she didn't even have an idea of how to _try_ to make it work . . . In the meantime, she and her crewmen would certainly starve in the southern wastelands, even with their seventh ray replicator and the eighth ray generators. They might manage to reach the southern polar caps before either Sab Than or her father realized his error and came after them, but then what? They would all freeze. Or Sab Than would find them, and they would die faster.

Dejah watched them rushing about the main deck like they had no other cares in the world. _They followed me blindly_, she thought. _They would follow me to the end of the Iss. _Perhaps it would come to that in the end, if she could not solve the problem with her ninth ray generator soon. _But I cannot return to marry Sab Than. I can never marry Sab Than. _Yet somehow, Dejah knew she would have to go back eventually.

Suddenly a soldier scrambled up to her. "Your Highness, airships off the stern! Perhaps two haads distant." He thrust a pair of binoculars before her, and she seized them.

Dejah scrambled to port, where she had a better view across the whole length of the airship and out beyond the stern. "Are they ours?"

"No, my lady. Zodangan!"

_Should I issue battle orders or feign innocence? _she thought. _If I were going to the temple . . . I would be going northwest. And Sab Than would certainly knows that._

Dejah dropped the binoculars to the deck where they landed with a decided thud. "Full speed to the thrusters, go to altitude, and prepare for battle!"

It had been many years since she had seen the heat of battle, and although she was the heir to Helium, she had never commanded one herself. But she had read her father's tactical manuals and sat in on Kantos Kan's training sessions. And Dejah knew how to prepare the defense of her ship.

Dejah ran down the starboard line of gunners as they brought forward and secured the light cannon against the rail. She unsheathed her sword, commanding their attention with the flash of light that caught on its blade. "My countryman, look here to me! We cannot outgun them, but we can outrun them to the mountains. There the dust storms gather on the eastern side, and we can ride one to freedom. Aim for their thrusters. Aim for their guns. Do not waste your charges! Hold for my signal!"

Quickly Dejah raced down the stairs in the ship's center to the middle deck and observed 20 Heliumite soldiers untying the gun ports and hoisting the heavy cannon through the openings. No, not good at all. The Zodangans would open fire with everything they had as soon as they saw all her guns brought to bear on them.

"Close the ports," she cried. "Close them! They will not see you aiming, and we will take them by surprise at the last minute. And remember, you man the heavy guns, the ones that can pierce their hull. Aim well. Shoot fast! But wait for my signal."

"And for the love of Issus, someone fetch me my helmet!"

It came expediently. Dejah took it from the boy, the same one who had given her the binoculars she had so abruptly discarded. Momentarily she handed him her sword and used her free hand to brush her tangled black locks back behind her ears. Then she set the helmet onto her head and pushed it down. It impaired her vision only slightly. She could still see the Zodangans looming larger in the sky behind her ship.

But with her orders issued, and her crew carrying them out, there was nothing to do but wait. They did not have to wait long. The Zodangans swooped in, trying to gain the advantage of shadow, but Dejah issued the order and the _Kalaar_ climbed higher into the sun.

Gaining speed from the direct noonday light, the pilot accelerated. They left the Zodangans behind. Only then did she hear the Zodangans' deck guns sound out. A few shots hit the main deck and ricocheted upwards. With a cry, a young Heliumite fell at his post. The _Kalaar_ veered violently to port, and the dead soldier's body rolled downwards. Dejah saw his comrade reach out and grab the body to keep it from toppling off the side.

"Those bastards," called her captain from beside her. A great burly man in his 800s, he had been her father's right arm in the last war with Ptarth. But that had been a different war, a war with rules. "We're still under truce," he cried.

"Truce means nothing to Sab Than," said Dejah.

More shots rang out from all the Zodangan vessels. _Should I open fire now when they're only barely within range? _She remembered the weapon Kantos Kan and the other reports had described. _No. We must out run them if we can. _

"He hasn't used his weapon yet, at least," the captain said.

"Do not trust to false hope," replied Dejah. "We must get as far out of range as we can."

The corsair ship was fast and sleek. It raced ahead of the Zodangan ships, stretching in its desperate pace for the jagged red mountains in the near distance. Dejah looked far ahead with her sharp eyes, but there was no dust beyond those peaks that they could hide in. Only empty desert and Tharks who would happily feast on their flesh if they were to land and attempt to hide in the caves.

And to make matters worse, the Zodangans were gaining.

"Open fire," she ordered. "Open fire, all decks!"

The guns burst forth from the lower decks and fired. The concussive boom threw her back into the captain's arms. Zodanga's answer was a sharp streak of blue light, light lightning. Two soldiers vanished from the deck, blowing into the wind as if made of powder. Dejah gasped.

_We can still surrender_, she thought. _I can save them . . . _But perhaps the captain beside her was able to read the defeat in her shoulders. He tightened his grip over her.

"We fight, my lady," said he. "We will fight and go down with this ship before we send you back to Sab Than."

_Thank you,_ her eyes silently communicated to him. Whether he understood, she could not say, for another violent hit shook the _Kalaar_, and the captain released her_. _The corsair ship's momentum ceased. The engines whirred and sputtered to a halt, shuddering beneath them in its death throes.

"A direct hit to our engine, Your Highness!" cried the pilot from the bridge before her. "Except for the vertical propulsion systems, we are dead in the air."

_They will board us in less than one xat. _Dejah pursed her lips, considered the options. "We must surrender. If Sab Than boards us, he will eradicate us all one by one if we don't."

"Let him," the captain said. "If it means but one tal more of freedom for Your Highness, then we will die."

"Aye, my lady," the pilot said. And the officers gathering round to await her orders nodded their assent.

"That is too much for any prince to ask his subjects," Dejah quickly refused. "But I have not given up entirely. I will go to the engine mount and try to restart the eighth ray drive. Stall if you can, but if he begins killing prisoners, then tell him my location."

Then Dejah left them to hoist the flag of surrender and crept down beneath the desk, into the humming bowels of the _Kalaar_. Through one of the port windows she glimpsed the red mountains of the Thark lands below her. A hopeless longing crept into her mind then, that she had been born a free greenman beyond the notice of Zodanga, without any care in the world but the hunt and the horde.

_But I am Dejah Thoris of Helium, _she thought, as she scrambled down the narrow utility ladder that went from the lower deck into the ship's core. It was hot in the cramped and wire-laden cavern, plated with steel and aluminum. Her hands and fingers were coated in sweat, and if she slipped, she would fall into the crevice and be trapped between the wall and the burning hot eighth ray core. She leapt from the narrow ladder to the top of the massive engine casing, on which she knew she would find an opening to the auxiliary engine controls. Measuring a good two ads by two, the engine indicator bars on its top glowed a healthy red. A few of the outlets sparked, but she judged the back-up system was likely intact. _Yes, _she thought. _I am Dejah Thoris, and I will restart this drive._

Within minutes it was done. She jumped back, grasping for the ladder. Her feet slipped on the bottom rung, but she held on, even with her sweaty hands. She hoisted herself up onto the lower deck. High above she could hear Sab Than's shouting and the swish of his terrifying weapon being used. Perhaps it had been the captain he had killed. She hoped his sacrifice was worth it.

There was an opening in the lower deck where the wheel supports descended. The narrow gap between that opening and the oversized wheel was too small for a grown man's body, but her lithe form slid through easily when she positioned herself face up. From there she squeezed side first through the gap until she was hanging horizontal onto the lower frame of the retracted wheels. She pushed a button and the door slid open. Turning like an acrobat, she rotated her body, with her feet passing over her head between her elbows. She uncurled slowly, still hanging precariously from the wheel frame. When her feet were perpendicular to the deck, she released and landed silently on the wing.

Deftly, Dejah crept into the unused pilot cockpit attached to the wing, seldom used because of its vulnerability to gunfire. It was unguarded, and no one on the upper decks was looking at her. She couldn't believe her luck.

She slid the gear mechanism, directing the _Kalaar's _nose toward the hard earth. The ship lurched and rolled, and she noted with pleasure several of Sab Than's men tumbling to their deaths. Her elation was short lived.

The same roll that had distracted the Zodangans was to be her downfall. Dejah lost her balance, she felt her hands miss their grip, and suddenly she was sliding, falling with nothing to hold on to. Desperately she grabbed at the smooth steel wing. Icy fear took her, and she could not think or comprehend what was happening. All she knew was she must hold on, she must . . .

Her fingers caught at the end and stopped her descent with a rough jerk. The force caused her helmet to tumble from her head. Her hair flew free, and her legs dangled over the edge without a hope of a foothold. The metal edge cut into her fingers, causing her pain, and she let out an undignified shriek.

_It's over, _her mind cried. _It's over, and I will fall. I cannot hold on . . . _

Pain or no pain, her fingers were not strong enough to hold her weight. Dejah Thoris felt them slip, her nails slipping uselessly over the metal and ripping. She fell with a great scream and saw the sky retreating and knew the ground was rushing up to meet her.

And just when she knew it had found her and she was dead, Dejah realized she was in someone's arms. Someone had caught her! She clutched at him tightly, her arms around his neck. Turning to her rescuer, she found that it was a man, and they were both still high in the air, flying like birds!

He landed on the roof of a tall tower, beneath the shadow of a Zodangan warship. She stared at him. He stared at her.

Skin so pale, arms hard as iron, and wearing something like a baby's oversized loincloth. But the way he had leapt . . . Dejah had never seen anything like him in her life.

Then he abruptly set her down and seized her sword from her hip. His fingers touched the outside of her thigh as he did. And then he said the strangest thing.

"Beg your pardon, ma'am. If you'll kindly stay behind me . . . this might get dangerous."


	3. Vir Jeen Yah to the Rescue

A/N: I meant to get this out on Friday, but real life intruded. Also, I really didn't intend to go through the _entire_ film, but somehow that seems to be what's happening. I may start to skip around a little just to get to the good parts.

And once again, if you are a supporter of "John Carter" the film, then you should be aware of the campaign to save the sequel. You can join the facebook group "Take Me Back To Barsoom!" and/or visit BackToBarsoom [dot] com. (No spaces between Barsoom, the dot, and the com, though.)

As ever thanks for reading!

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><p>Whoever he was, whatever he was, he had her sword. He was slashing at the oncoming rush of Zodangans as they charged down the gangplank, but he was leaving his guard open. His strength was apparently not matched by a corresponding knowledge of swordplay. But his ferocity in battle was unbeatable, and two immediately fell before his blade.<p>

Dejah stood dumbfounded, still recovering from the shock of the fall and her miraculous rescue. _Who is this man? s_he thought._ Is it a man at all? _

"This might get dangerous," he had said, as if nothing he had seen thus far had presented any sort of challenge to him at all. His misplaced bravado and the hapless way in which he was brandishing her sword made her itch to prove her own mettle in the fight.

Nor did she have long to wait, for the Zodangans quickly exploited the weakness in the stranger's sword grip and disarmed him. With a flourish, the sword flew up into the air, sailing fortuitously in her direction and she proudly caught it and joined the fight, shunting her reckless rescuer aside. With a brutal slice she cut through a Zodangan's neck, the supple blade ripping through the muscles and spattering blood. Another fell, and then, sensing one behind her, she swiftly turned the sword around and thrust hard underneath her arm. She was rewarded with the hard feel of a man's body resisting her weapon even as she pushed back on the hilt, forcing the metal deeper into her victim's chest. The man groaned behind her and was no more. She yanked the sword away and stood up to face this odd stranger who was now appraising her with new respect.

"Or maybe I oughta get behind you . . . " he said, his words stretched out over a strange accent she could not place.

Dejah couldn't resist his gaze. She came closer until she was looking him directly in the face, so close she might have kissed him if she'd wanted to. If she'd had the time . . . For one brief, yet endless moment the fight seemed far away. _His eyes are green_, she thought absently. Daringly, she grabbed a flap of that loincloth and wiped it down the flat of her blade.

"Let me know when it gets dangerous."

With that, she turned and fled, leaving him to dispose of the Zodangans that were threatening to overwhelm them both on the rooftop. She hopped down from the platform on which they stood to the earth below and safety. And when she landed and turned to look up at the fight, she watched that magnificent man leaping up to the deck of a Zodangan galley.

Dejah's mouth hung open, as she tried to calculate the distance. That explained how he had saved her, but it did not solve the mystery of who he was. A White Martian? she wondered. If one believed the old stories, then such things had once existed. An albino?

On the ground, she ran along, following him with her eyes. Although he was one man and the Zodangans were many, the fight seemed almost one-sided. The Zodangans could not dispatch him, and every time they tried, he leapt out of their way.

He seized the guns and aimed it at one of the Zodangan war ships. The resulting blast obliterated its vertical propulsion system, and the ship's hull began to lilt and crumble and sink down down down, plummeting into the red earth that shook from the force of its violent crash. Flames erupted from its shell. If any men had survived the fall, they were undoubtedly dead now. And up there, she supposed her men were dying as well. But Dejah repressed that thought. She could not afford to dwell on such things now.

Somewhere along the line Dejah became aware of the Tharks. They were streaming forth from the dirt and the rocks, brandishing their rifles and spears. They cheered as if for one of their own as they watched the stranger leap from ship to ship in the sky and cutting down his foes with his flashing sword. And they called out a strange word that she could not make out. "VIR JEEN YAH! VIR JEEN YAH!"

_He is one of them, perhaps?_ she thought. _Or a mercenary. _The haze of the battle departed from her, and she began to think and plan once again. Her mind began to race with possibilities and hopes. If these Tharks accepted this man as their friend and cheered for the destruction of Zodanga then perhaps they would be willing allies of Helium. She could negotiate a peace and ride home with a great army and this man, this spectacular warrior. They could conquer Zodanga, destroy that monstrous city once and for all, and she could continue her work on the ninth ray. . .

Dejah followed the moving forms of Sab Than and Vir-Jeen-Yah as they clashed aboard the remaining battleship. She could not see exactly what was happening, only that there was a struggle.

And suddenly the Tharks amassed themselves below the ships and opened fire. A great cry of retreat echoed from the Zodangan's galley, and soon its hulking mass had lifted up and was turning about. A lone man jumped from its decks, bounced carefree off the deck of a wounded ship below, and landed with a thud on the earth. _Vir-Jeen-Yah_, Dejah tried out the sound her head and liked it.

Not one ad away stood an equally amazed female Thark. She was watching the proceedings with an inscrutable expression and had thus far not acknowledged Dejah's presence or given any indication of noticing her at all. Dejah walked up to her and pressed her sword into one of her four hands. "I surrender. You may take me captive," she said, but the Thark did not seem to understand. Dejah walked freely into the midst of the cheering, elated Tharks, pushing against them to make way and finally arriving at the very center of the throng where they crowded around Vir-Jeen-Yah.

He was standing with his head bowed low. Several baldrics and leather breastplates now adorned his pale torso. Dejah examined him, questioningly. He did not look remotely pleased, she observed. And his new ill-fitting gear was out of place and made him look like a child. But had he not sought this honor by joining the fight? Why shouldn't he revel in his exploits? The Jeddak of the Tharks was nearby, and Dejah strode confidently towards him.

"Jeddak of the Tharks!"

The Jeddak was so tall that he did not seem to know where to look when he heard her voice.

"I am Dejah Thoris, Regent of the Helium Academy of Science. My research vessel was attacked. I was able to restart the eighth ray drive, but I was not able to . . . "

Two of his four hands shoved her roughly away, with an audacity that had almost never been shown towards her. Dejah found herself sprawling backwards into another body, and four hands gripped her hard so she could not escape.

"Your share of the spoils!" the Jeddak pronounced, looking at Vir-Jeen-Yah. "Sola, take care of Virginia's property."

Dejah knew she could not get free, but she struggled to straighten herself up to her full height. "You know that when Sab Than has conquered Helium, he will turn his weapon upon you!"

"I know that Zodanga has found a way to defeat you. And now you seek a mighty weapon of your own. But Vir-Jeen-Yah fights for us! He will fight the Torquas in the south! And the Warhoons in the north! And he will be called Dotar Sojat, my right arms!"

Dejah looked at the man, who seemed unwilling, unreceptive, and, if she judged rightly, quietly fuming. He seized the ornaments from around his neck and threw them upon the ground.

"No," he said. "I don't fight for anyone."

Dejah scrutinized him, the questions she had multiplying in her mind. What did he mean by he didn't fight for anyone? Why had he saved her if he didn't fight? What was he doing with Tharks if he didn't fight? Didn't he know that was all they did?

"Vir-Jeen-Yah," she heard the Jeddak say to the man. He set his long arms upon his shoulders and said something that she could not hear, even with straining.

Vir-Jeen-Yah looked up at her for a long moment, and Dejah understood that her fate somehow hung in the balance. She met his gaze, beseeching and pleading with him to . . . to what, to save her? Dejah didn't know.

But whatever the Jeddak had said, and whatever was in this stranger's thoughts, he had come to a decision. Reluctantly, almost resentfully he nodded. "I am Dotar Sojat," he proclaimed with gruffness. He looked at her once again as the Tharks around them began to cheer. And then he looked away, seeming to Dejah as if he'd had his fill for the day.

But Dejah had gleaned all the information she needed. This man was a good fighter, and he was not a friend of the Tharks. He had jumped into the sky to save her and her alone. And despite the brooding anger behind his eyes, she could recognize there an admiration for her that only royalty or a beautiful woman could command.

As the crowd surged around them, Vir-Jeen-Ya stepped towards her and motioned to the Thark holding her arms to release her.

Royalty or a beautiful woman, thought Dejah, knowingly. She happened to be both.


	4. Our Ships Sail The Seas

A/N: Seriously, I didn't intend to go through the whole film. I have other, more interesting and more original tricks up my sleeve that I'd like to pursue. But here's another chapter for you. Thanks for all your reviews! Snake Charmer: Thanks for that bit of info. I'll see if I can work it in. I have only a cursory knowledge of the books, gleaned from Wikipedia and other sources. But mainly I liked the movie version of Dejah, and I have trouble reverting to the arguably weaker and fully naked version.

Also, there's a petition going around for a sequel. You can find the link at **BacktoBarsoom [dot] com**. Long shot or not, please take a second to show our support. Taylor Kitsch has said he knows about the Facebook group and the petitions. A few of the minor cast and crew have also worked their way towards the Facebook group! (No, not Taylor or Lynn. Sorry.) Ergo, joining the Facebook group and signing the petition is an excellent way to show them how much we appreciated the film, even when all the critics and late night comics are determined to see it die a horrible, flamey death.

The Facebook group has been growing at a rate of approximately 150 to 200 people per day. It's up to nearly 6,800 as I type.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

><p>Evening began to swallow the day, and all around the ruins of the Thark city of Korad crept the shadows. That is, everywhere save for the sand surrounding the burning wreckage of the once-proud <em>Kalaar<em>. The Tharks were pillaging the wreck for weapons, ammunition, treasures, food, whatever they could find. With unforgiveable indifference they discarded the corpses of her countrymen in a careless heap, their contorted limbs flopping downward as if they were a kind of macabre doll.

All so Dejah Thoris could be a prisoner in the land of the Tharks. _For now_, she reassured herself.

Regal, strong, cold. All these words had been used to describe her. But Dejah was not too proud to weep, and the tears she felt behind her eyes would soon be coming. But behind her she heard _his_ footsteps, and when he approached she forced herself to shake away her grief.

"War, shameful thing," he said. He seemed to her embarrassed by the inadequacy of his words. Dejah chose to ignore it. He had given her an opening, and she would take it.

"Not when a noble cause is taken up by those who can make a difference," she began, wondering if this was an instance where she was coming on too strong. But he seemed receptive, and show plowed on. "You made a difference today, Vir-Jeen-Yah."

He shook his head. "See, my name is 'John Carter,' Virginia is where I'm _from_."

The place was unfamiliar to her, and she had spent many years not only learning geography, but traveling Barsoom as well. But it was of no consequence. She was not learned in every regional dialect, nor did she know of every small settlement. Perhaps it was one of the city quarters in Ptarth.

"How did you learn to jump that way?" she demanded.

"I don't know," he said. "How did you learn to fly?"

This man, this 'John Carter' grew stranger and stranger. What land was so remote that he had never heard of airships? Or was he mocking her?

"Your ships cannot sail on light in Virginia?"

"No, Professor," he said, calling her by some strange title that she knew for certain contained some element of ridicule. "See our ships sail the seas."

A twinge of dismay hit her then. _He's mad,_ Dejah realized.

"Water?" he was saying. "Endless water everywhere?"

_Definitely a madman, _she thought, but a moment's reflection made her decide that was all the better for her. He might even be easier to convince than a man in full command of his sanity. _And he can still jump. _She circled him slowly, thinking aloud. "Skeletal structure normal, increased bone density." She smacked him on his buttocks. "Jump for me."

Behind her the Thark female protested. "Enough! There will be time for playfulness later."

"I want no playfulness from him," cried Dejah, throwing up her hand. "I want his help. Explain to me how you do it. If it's a skill, I will pay you to teach it to Helium."

But he would not bite, it seemed. She could tell by his head shake that he was not interested. "I'm not for hire."

Dejah could not help being annoyed by his apathy. She felt that he was making light of her cause and disliked it. "There are no seas on this planet. Not anymore. Only a madman would rave about the time of oceans," she challenged.

This appeared to spark his ire. "That your expert opinion? That I'm mad."

"Or a liar."

This time she'd gotten him, she knew it. His eyes flashed with anger.

Behind him the Thark . . . Sola, she presumed? The Thark was teasing them. It was of no consequence. Dejah stared straight ahead at John Carter, who was looking at her with something between horror and awe. She was ready to question his manhood or perhaps to seduce him. One tactic generally worked on men, if not both. The only question was to find out which one it was . . .

He seemed to care about her opinion; perhaps that was key. Dejah calculated her next move, and then suddenly John Carter spoke. "You said _planet?_"

She gaped at him. "Do you know where you are, John Carter?"

He swallowed, seeming to measure his answer against any hint he might find in her expression. "The Arizona territory?" he said at length.

Arr-i-zo-nah. Another made-up word. Dejah opened her mouth to protest but closed it. What was she to say? She had studied insanity, and John Carter did not seem to be the sort of raving lunatic that fit the mould. But thus far his mind had been stuck in some odd fantasy world of places that did not exist like 'Virginia. Arizona. . . . _Seas_'

"What tribe are you from anyway?" he said. "And these creatures, these Tharks . . . I never read about any of this in the papers. Buffalo, maybe. Bears. Mountain Lions. But four-armed talking Indians with green skin . . . "

"They are Tharks, John Carter. Warlike and primitive, they have always roamed the deserts on the fringe of civilization," she said. "And you are standing among the ruins of the ancient city of Korad."

"And Korad is . . . in the Arizona territory?" But he seemed unsure of himself. He hesitated for a minute, and seemed increasingly frustrated.

"It is one of the dead cities of the south," she said carefully.

"Well, I can see it's dead, Professor," he said, his irritation growing. "But what _planet_ is this?"

"Barsoom."

John Carter's brow furrowed. His eyes squinted in concentration. He threw his hands up in disgust and stalked away. Dejah knew better than to follow.

Dejah remained outside the caves and ruins, still watching the burning ships long into the night. Sola the Thark, stayed with her. During the awkward silence that replaced Carter's inane ravings, she was finally able to examine her captor. She was tall and lanky, like all her kind. But her skin was mottled with scars that looked to her like they had been exacted at the end of a red hot iron brand. She had seen such marks many times before on slaves and thoats. Perhaps that explained the expression of sadness in the female's face. She was standing by the crumbled pillars, holding her spear aloft with three hands. The fourth hung loosely at her side. Her eyes were unfocused, looking through Dejah. She was obviously lost in thought. Were it not for John Carter, Dejah might have attempted escape from her inattentive guard. But she had no intention of leaving Korad without him.

"You are friends with John Carter?" said Dejah. It was not a question.

Sola did not appear to understand.

"With Dotar Sojat," she amended.

"He will never go to Helium, if that is what you seek." Sola jabbed the butt of her spear in the ground and pointed with two hands to the ground. "You will sit here until Dotar Sojat returns."

"Warrior of the Tharks, I do not believe you live a good life here in the desert," said Dejah, refusing to sit where directed. "Think how much better it could be in Helium. I could have you appointed ambassador or translator. Or you could serve as my bodyguard or the guard to Dotar Sojat himself. And no one would dare lay a hand on. . . "

"You will not speak either," Sola snapped. She pointed again to the ground.

With a sigh, Dejah dropped her imperious act and sat. It was no use trying to persuade a Thark. She might as well rest her weary legs. And she sat there for a long time, until her rear end hurt and her back was sore. She wondered absently what John Carter was doing. What would she do if she could not convince him to come home with her? But she found she was too exhausted to think of what might happen in the morning. In all of one day she had gone from being the Princess of Helium, the commander of her own ship, to a helpless captive just one madman's inclination away from being food for the arena apes. She backed up against a rock and bent over it, cushioning her head upon her arms. She closed her eyes.

When she opened them again the night sky was at its darkest. Someone had started a fire within a makeshift pit. It smelled strongly of an unfamiliar burning oil, reminding Dejah of how far she was from her father's house. And standing over her, with wide eyes alight with fire, was John Carter.

He pointed at the night sky dotted with stars, and gestured towards the two moons.

"There's two of those," he said.

Dejah blinked. Was it time to start this again?

"Cluros. Thuria," she said. When he stared back at her without comprehension she clarified. "Our moons?"

Carter licked his lips and swallowed. "Say I might believe you that we're not in Arizona. So where are we?"

"You are on Barsoom, in the southeastern desert once part of the realm of Korad . . . "

Carter nodded, impatiently. "But how far are we from the Sun, Professor?"

"They did not teach you astronomy where you came from?"

He shook his head. "Show me."

Dejah looked around and found a long stick lying nearby. Picking it up, she began to draw eight concentric circles in the dirt. Then she hurried away and came back with eight small stones and set them up, one upon each circle, in a long line.

John Carter squatted beside her, watching her work. As she laid the eighth stone down, she felt their thighs touch. She looked up at him and found they were very close. He was looking at her in a way she did not find at all unpleasant. Dejah licked her lips. She suddenly remembered how handsome she'd thought him the first time their eyes had met.

"The solar system, I'm guessing?" he pressed her.

Dejah shook away the unwelcome distraction. She picked up the stick again and pointed to the center. "Sun." Then to the next rock. "Rasoom."

"Mercury," he said.

She pointed to the next stone. "Cosoom."

"Venus," he interrupted. Then he pointed insistently to the third rock. "Then Earth, _us._"

"That is Jasoom. You are on Barsoom, John Carter."


End file.
